


The Darkness in the Flames

by YukinoOkami



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drama & Romance, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 14:29:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2550959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YukinoOkami/pseuds/YukinoOkami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John's wife Mary is kidnapped, he will do anything to save her.  Even if it means agreeing to assassinate the famous Sherlock Holmes. (This is a Sherlock/John fic, I promise!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Darkness in the Flames

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Sherlock Characters, I simply enjoy playing with them.

John drummed his fingers on the table as he looked over the paper. There wasn’t much to report, other than the occasional suicide, or missing person. Someone in some office he cared little about had received a job promotion, and there was an article citing dubious science about the effect of eating too many oranges as a child. He flipped the page, and consulted the flats that were available for rent or purchase. Not that there was anything wrong with his current place, but they were a growing family and he’d need something more.

His fingers wrapped around the handle of his mug and he sipped the piping hot tea. He let out a sigh, enjoying the warm beverage.

 _Much better than the yanks make it_ , he thought, considering his recent flight back from the United States. They never could seem to get the tea quite hot enough.

He scanned the flats again, taking another sip. There wasn’t much available, at least not as close to London as he preferred. They’d have to wait a bit longer he supposed.

John turned the page again, and frowned as he caught sight of a familiar face.

Sherlock Holmes aids police and catches killer, the headline read. John paused, and considered the article. He’d never actually met this Sherlock person, but he’d seen the man featured several times in the paper. He was an interesting figure that was for sure. A consulting detective, the article told him.

The phone rang, breaking John’s thoughts, and he picked it up.

“Hello,” he said, his eyes still lingering on the article.

“Hello, Dr. Watson?”

“Ah, hello Susan.” He recognized the voice almost instantly. It was the receptionist from the new surgery he’d taken over.

“I just called to let you know your appointment for tomorrow has been cancelled, so you have the day off.”

“Did she say why?” John frowned. The patient he’d had on his schedule was a longtime patient suffering from a series of misfortunate illnesses. She had just recently gotten over the flu only to get pneumonia. He’d hoped to check up this week and see how the anti-biotics were treating her.

“Not really. Said she was feeling better, and she wanted to reschedule, but had to check her calendar first.”

“Right, well, thank you for letting me know.”

“Of course. Cheerio!”

“Cheerio.” He murmured in return. His thumb hit the end button on the phone, but he kept it in his hands, turning it over.

A day off would be nice. It would give him some time with Mary, who was getting back from a job this afternoon. She’d appreciate it at any rate. Perhaps they could do something nice, go out for dinner or something. He glanced down at the paper again, staring curiously at the picture of Sherlock. It wasn’t a particularly good photo, he thought, as it was grainy and blurred slightly, as if Sherlock has been in motion when someone snapped it.

He picked up his tea again and sipped it, thinking of this Sherlock character. He certainly was a curious figure. Perhaps John should arrange a meeting somehow? At the very least he’d likely get some new inspiration for his blog, tagging along to the crime scenes.

And…while he’d never admit it to Mary, he missed the tension and the blood. He missed being in the war. Despite the nightmares that still plagued his sleep, and had forced Mary into another bedroom because of his screaming. Despite his shoulder which ached every time it rained, which was often enough in London, despite his constant limp and painful leg, despite it all, he missed his time in the military.

The phone rang again, and John glanced at it, before hitting the button and raising it to his ear.

“Hello John.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. This wasn’t a voice he recognized.

“I’m sorry, who is this?” he asked, frowning.

“That isn’t important. However, I have a question for _you_ John. Are you missing anything?”

John glanced around, but didn’t see anything in their small flat that appeared to be gone. Everything was in its spot, where it should be. Mary had always teased him for his need to organize everything. John hadn’t been able to tell her he was clinging to his former life. If he couldn’t have violence, he could have this.

“No.” he replied, confidently. “Nothing’s missing.”

“What about your wife John?” the voice said. It was strange, John noticed. As if someone was being directed to say things, or reading from a card. The voice was stiff and…afraid?

Still, it was true Mary wasn’t in the flat, but that was because her flight wasn’t due back for another couple of hours.

“She’s not here, no, but she’s not missing. She’s on a flight. Can I help you? Is this one of her friends?” he asked, frowning again, his hand reaching out to touch the page of the newspaper.

“I beg to differ, John.”

“Excuse me?” John felt his temper rise, and he felt something he hadn’t in a long time. Fear.

“Listen closely John Watson. If you ever want to see your wife again, you need to do a little job for me.”

Chills shot down John’s spine as he realized just who it was behind the phone call.

“No. Listen, I told you years ago. I’m done. I don’t want anything more to do with you, or anyone else in your little organization.” They wouldn’t scare him so easily. They wouldn’t.

“Oh, but you will John. If you don’t, well, perhaps I’ll send you your wife, bit by bit through the post. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

John flinched. There was a chance this was only a threat, that they didn’t actually have her.

“Prove it.” He demanded. “Prove that you have Mary. Then, and only then, will I make a deal with you.”

“Very well,” the voice said, and the line went dead. John had seconds to wonder at this when the phone suddenly rang again. He answered.

“John? John!” the voice was Mary’s, her fear almost palpable through the receiver.

“Mary?” he yelled, but it was too late. He had but a moment to listen to her muffled cries, and then the line went dead again.

It rang again a moment later.

“Fine,” John said. “What do you want me to do?”

“It’s simple really,” said the voice on the other end. “I want you to kill Sherlock Holmes.”


End file.
